The Perfect Victim: Playing The Billionaire's Game

The glass door shattered open. Isadore didn't walk; he stormed onto the terrace.

"Sterling!" His voice was a whip crack. "Back off."

Carter stumbled back, nearly tripping over a planter. "Mr. Grimes. I... she's crazy. She climbed up there herself!"

Isadore ignored him. He walked straight to the railing. He didn't look panicked. He looked furious.

"Get down," he ordered Ashton. "Now. Do not turn my evening into a crime scene."

Ashton looked down at the drop, then back at him. She held out a hand.

Isadore grabbed it. His grip was iron. He didn't just help her down; he yanked her off the ledge.

She collided with his chest. For a second, she was pressed against the solid wall of his tuxedo. She smelled expensive scotch and starch. She let herself linger for a heartbeat, pressing her face into his lapel.

Isadore stiffened. He pushed her back to arm's length, his hands lingering on her shoulders for a fraction of a second too long before dropping.

"Go," he said to Carter, not looking away from Ashton. "If you come within ten feet of her again, I will buy your father's company and liquidate it for sport."

Carter turned white. He scrambled back inside.

Ashton shivered. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Isadore said, his voice low. "You staged that."

"Did I?" Ashton challenged.

She turned and ran. Not back inside, but toward the service fire escape.

Isadore watched her go. He adjusted his cuffs, his heart rate slightly elevated. He hated that.

Ashton took the stairs down to the kitchen level. She grabbed a waiter's jacket from a rack and a tray with a single glass of champagne. She rode the service elevator to the penthouse floor.

She knocked on the door of the Presidential Suite.

Isadore opened it. He had loosened his tie. He looked at her, then at the tray.

"How did you get up here?"

"Room service," Ashton said, pushing past him into the room. "Hide me. Carter is waiting in the lobby."

Isadore closed the door. "Ten minutes. Then security escorts you out."

Ashton walked to the window. The city sprawled below them, a grid of electricity.

"Charity let him in," Ashton said. "She wanted a scene. She doesn't care if it ruins your gala, as long as it hurts me."

Isadore poured himself a drink. "I don't care about your catfights."

"You care about your reputation," Ashton said, turning to face him. She walked over and took the glass from his hand. She took a sip, her eyes locked on his. "Charity is a liability. She's messy. She's emotional."

She stepped closer, invading his personal space. "You need a partner, Isadore. Not a child."

Isadore looked at the glass she had just drunk from. He looked at her mouth. "And you're the partner? You have nothing."

"I know how to unlock the Harmon Trust's voting rights," she said, her voice dropping. "They're trapped behind a legal firewall Carter created, but I know the loophole. And I know where all the bodies are buried."